


In the Silence

by Ignis_Aurum



Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, Hallucinations, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, and Robin realizes that bottling up everything is not coping, in which Jericho discovers he can't keep running from his trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-27 18:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13254606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ignis_Aurum/pseuds/Ignis_Aurum
Summary: Jericho supposes that it's ironic: a mute who's afraid of silence. But he has his guitar, and for a while, that had been enough to keep the flashbacks at bay. Now he's in the open again, and that's all it takes for the memories to come flooding back. There are things in his past he would rather not discuss, and Robin of all people can understand that.





	1. Chapter 1

Strangely enough, Jericho had always hated silence. Perhaps it came from the knowledge that whenever it was silent when he was little, something had gone terribly wrong. Perhaps it came from the knowledge that silence always brought forth memories he would rather forget. Perhaps it came from the knowledge that it was in the silence that he swore his father would come for him. Whatever it was, he would always be eternally grateful for his guitar.

The Honorary Titans had been invited to spend a few nights at the tower after the defeat of the Brotherhood of Evil, and although there had been plenty of conversation in the beginning, most had wandered off to inspect the quarters assigned to them for the duration of their stay by now. To distract himself from the growing silence, Jericho had taken to his guitar in the hope that the melodies would ward off any bad memories.

His fingers moved along the frets with no conscious effort from him, and he leaned into the sofa, allowing his eyes to slip shut as the melody consumed his thoughts. Lilting and soft, the notes swirled around him comfortingly, pulling him away from reality back to his isolated mountain top where he had been safe.

Now, he was back in the world where he was sure his father would like nothing more than to hunt him down and turn him into a tool for his own use just like he had done to Rose. Now, he was vulnerable. Now, he was a target.

He kept playing, honing in on the music to distract him from the thoughts that rose, unbidden, in his mind. But they were still there. Ignoring them wouldn't make them go away.

_"Daddy!"_

No. Not now. Not here.

_The blade against his throat—_

Now was not the time.

_—cutting off his oxygen supply._

He needed to stop this quickly.

_"Joey, I'm so sorry."_

Why now? Why here?

_Suddenly he was choking._

His breath caught in his throat.

_He was drowning in his own blood._

Jericho's eyes snapped open, his hands flying to his neck. His guitar clattered to the ground, forgotten. The figures surrounding him morphed into men clad in black, their gentle hands on his shoulders became rough grips with malicious intent behind them. He scrambled back, falling over the edge of the couch in his haste to flee. Clambering to his feet, he did the only thing he could think of: run.

Footsteps pursued him, spurring him to pick up the pace. He rounded a corner and stopped dead in his tracks. In front of him was a window, and in it, he saw his father. Instinctively, he dropped to his knees and stared up at the image of the man who decided his moral code was worth more than his own son's life. His lips parted as if in silent question.

He reached out to the figure, halting only when his fingers were less than an inch from the glass pane. He didn't want to know if it was really his father standing there. He didn't want to face the reality, whatever it was. Both options were equally horrible.

Then there were people kneeling in front of him, cupping his face and telling him that he was safe. They made no move to get him back to his feet, only reassuring him and stroking his hair.

"Friend Jericho, what has frightened you so?" Starfire. That was Starfire's voice. The black-clad men began to fade away, leaving only scared and concerned Titans in their place. "Please, we cannot aid you if you will not tell us what is wrong."

Still, the image of his father remained.

Robin gripped his shoulders, shaking him lightly. "Jericho, whatever you're seeing in that window, it's not real."

"Yeah, man. There's no way anyone could get in the tower without us knowing. I should know. I designed the security systems myself."

'Dad.' His lips formed around the word clumsily, as if he weren't used to saying it anymore, but no sound passed them. The image shifted, until his father was crumpled on the ground with both hands clutching at his right eye. Jericho opened his mouth to scream.

No sound.

_"Oh, Joey. Joey, baby, I didn't mean for you to see that."_

It was all just a memory.

_His face pressed into her chest as if it would make him forget what he saw._

He hoped it was a memory.

_His father moaning and whimpering like little Joey never thought he could._

"Robin, his pulse."

"I know!" There were fingers scrabbling at the collar of his turtleneck, pulling it down. "I'm trying- Oh."

"What 'Oh,' Robin? What villain is causing friend Jericho such distress?"

"It's… It's not a villain. I think he's having flashbacks."

"To what?"

"I'm sure he'll want to tell the story himself, Raven, once this is all over." Robin pulled him close and slipped one arm around the back of his knees, hoisting him up in a bridal carry. "For now, though, let's just get him to the Infirmary."

Jericho could feel his body shaking, feel his hands grope blindly at the front of the Titan leader's uniform, but he didn't seem to be in control of the movements. His lips were moving, spelling out words he would never have the chance to say. He knew that the other Titans were speaking, but it was just noise to him now, really.

It felt like an eternity before Robin put him down on the padded table and shooed the others out of the room. "Listen, I may not know what happened to you or why, but I want you to know that I understand what's going on in your head right now." A gloved hand moved to grasp his own. "It's like a switch in your brain's been flipped, and you're running on instinct. The only thought you have is to survive, so you run. You run, and you keep running until you've left the memories behind." The young crime-fighter gave his hand a squeeze. When Jericho didn't react, Robin kept talking. "But sometimes the memories catch up with you, and you've got nowhere left to hide, so you're stuck reliving them over and over, until you learn not to run from them anymore."

_Blood._

"Do you hear me? You've got to fight them. They're memories—that's all."

_Pain._

"You can't let memories defeat you, Jericho."

_Tears._

"You'll be okay. Nothing can hurt you in here. I promise."

Slowly, as if not sure his fingers would respond properly, Jericho squeezed Robin's hand back. He shook his head and propped himself up on one elbow. 'I scared you,' he signed, pulling the hand Robin had been holding back to his body.

"Well, yeah, a bit. But you're okay now." Robin took a step away, placing his arms awkwardly at his sides. "That's all that matters."

'I'm sorry.'

"Don't be."

Jericho brought a hand up to massage his temples. He hadn't had flashbacks this bad in a while. 'I should sleep.'

"Good idea," Robin murmured. He paused, looking the other up and down before offering a hand to help him off the table. "Do you get nightmares?"

Unsure of what to sign, Jericho simply nodded.

"Come on." Hooking his arm across the blonde's shoulders, Robin began to lead him down the hallway. His steps were slow and deliberate; he clearly wasn't sure if Jericho was quite steady on his feet yet. "You can bunk with me tonight."

When they reached Robin's quarters, Jericho immediately settled into a corner, by now accustomed to unconventional resting places. No sooner had he closed his eyes than he felt a hand on his upper arm tugging him back to his feet. Allowing a question to twist his features, he cracked an eye open to look at the hero.

"I have a cot. You take the bed."

Though hesitant, Jericho let Robin guide him over to the bed and began to pull the sheets back. He slipped under them after pulling off his tunic and boots. While he was preoccupied with that, Robin had set up a cot on the left side of the bed.

"Anything you need?" he asked, the sincerity clear in his voice.

'Robin?'

"Yeah?"

'Don't let it be quiet.'


	2. Chapter 2

It was long past midnight, and Robin still couldn't bring himself to break his vigil. He had been perched on the edge of the cot since Jericho had drifted off to sleep, alert for any sign that the Honorary Titan might be having a nightmare. Of course, it would have been easier to call in Raven and have her regulate his dreams empathically, but in situations like this, it was best to handle things face-to-face.

As per his guest's request, Robin had put on an old CD of instrumental music. Whatever it was about the silence that made Jericho afraid, the crime-fighter certainly didn't want to trigger another flashback. Despite wanting to know, he understood enough to realize that he would find out in time.

Strangled, barely audible sobs rose from the bed, cutting through his thoughts. He lurched forward and grabbed onto a trembling Jericho's shoulder, gently rolling the blonde over to face him. When the boy's eyes remained squeezed shut, he ran a gloved hand through the sleep-tousled curls, hoping the action would calm him. Words seemed to escape him for the moment, so he contented himself with holding onto Jericho and watching for the slightest change in his breathing. Finally, he recovered his voice. "Jericho," he hissed, giving the other a little shake. "Jericho. Come on, wake up. You're safe."

Bright green eyes flew open, irises glowing in the darkness.

Contact.

The word reverberated in Robin's mind, and suddenly Jericho seemed to leap right through—or, rather,  _into_ —him. His hands moved up into his field of vision with no command from him, seemingly causing his body to jerk back in shock. He felt himself start trembling, felt the fabric of his gloves against his face as his head dropped to be buried in his hands, but he wasn't in control anymore.

And then he was. He flexed his fingers, testing his motor skills to see if anything had changed. Warily, he lifted his head.

Jericho flickered back into existence, curled into a defensive ball on the bed. Robin reached for him, not quite understanding what had just occurred, only to pull back when the mute recoiled. He was mouthing something, as though he had forgotten his lack of voice.

Robin's muscles locked up as it dawned on him.

Jericho had possessed him, if only for a few moments.

Beast Boy had clamored on about Jericho's body-snatching abilities once they'd all had time to settle down and talk. He'd praised them, amazed that someone so small and frail-looking could keep control of such a terrifyingly strong power. He'd remarked on how fast the boy could wrest control of a body from even the most mentally resilient. Jericho had seemed embarrassed during the conversation—perhaps uncomfortable, even.

Now, staring at the boy's huddled form, Robin recognized for the first time just how painfully accurate his teammate had been in calling Jericho small and frail-looking. Even through the thin white turtleneck, he could see the faint outlines of Jericho's ribs, and he certainly remembered that carrying the blonde had been no more difficult than carrying a toddler. He hadn't given it much thought before, but the mute's cheeks had always appeared a bit sunken.

"When was the last time you ate?" he found himself asking, brow furrowed in concern.

Jericho uncurled, casting an uncertain glance at Robin before quickly averting his gaze. After a minute or so, he signed hurriedly, 'Not hungry.'

Robin could usually tell when someone was lying, and it was obvious that Jericho was telling the truth—or at least honestly believed he was. "That wasn't what I asked. When was the last time you ate a proper meal?"

Rather sheepishly, Jericho held up three fingers, still looking away.

"Three days?"

Jericho shook his head tersely.

"Three weeks?" There was no response other than the boy dropping his hand, and suddenly Robin wanted nothing more than to grab Jericho and shake him while telling him how dangerous that was. How he could ruin his metabolism. How he could have gotten seriously sick up on that mountain and no one would have been the wiser. He wanted to be angry, but all he felt was sympathy. "Do you want to get something now or wait 'til morning?" He kept his voice low and gentle, trying not to sound demanding.

'Not hungry,' Jericho reiterated.

Robin nodded, almost to himself. He had expected that response. "Okay. In the morning, then."

Moving into a sitting position, eyes downcast, Jericho balled the edge of the sheet in his fists. His shoulders were hunched, and he refused to look at Robin when requested to do so. He flinched as the Titan reached out to grasp his chin and turn his face towards him.

"You panicked. I understand that. I woke you up during a nightmare, and you acted in fear." Robin released Jericho's chin, sensing that the contact wasn't helping his case at all. "I don't blame you," he whispered, hoping his tone was reassuring or at the very least comforting. "In fact, I probably would have done the same."

'But I possessed you.'

"So?"

The query seemed to set Jericho off. He began signing so rapidly that Robin couldn't start to make sense of what he was trying to say.

"Woah, let's slow down there, okay? I can't read ASL that fast." Robin held his hands up. He hoped the mute would see that he had meant no harm by the question.

'I possessed you. I essentially shunted you out of your own nervous system because I couldn't control my fear.' When Robin moved to interrupt, Jericho gave him a warning stare. 'I would never use my power on someone, even an enemy, unless there were lives in danger. I could hold you hostage in your own body if you so much as made eye contact with me for just a moment and there would be nothing anyone could do to save you. In my panic, I could have forced your heart to stop. I could have killed you just because I was afraid.' He sighed, dropping his chin to his chest. 'This is not the ability of a hero, Robin. This is the power of a villain.'

For once, Robin didn't know what to say. Did Jericho really believe all that? The way the Honorary Titan talked, he seemed to think that it was only a matter of time before he became their enemy. "Is that why we found you all alone on that mountain?"

'I thought I could escape it. I thought if I hid long enough, he would forget about me, but he's still out there, and every second I spend here is another second I risk getting you all killed.' He looked up, eyes wide with delirious panic. 'He's coming. He's coming, and he's not going to stop until I'm just like Rose. You have to let me leave. He will slaughter all of you without a second thought if it means he can get to me. Please, you have to let me leave.'

He was working himself up into another panic attack. Robin grabbed his hands, repeating quietly that he was safe and that whoever was coming for him would have to get past every one of the Titans, Honorary and Official members alike, if he wanted to hurt one of their own. He could almost hear Jericho's breath hitch at the promise, and the mute shook his head vigorously. "Look, we'll protect you." Robin brought one of Jericho's hands up to rest on his heart. He forced a smile. "As long as I'm alive, the Titans will protect you."

Jericho ripped his hands away. 'How can you promise that?' His expression was bitter, tainted with memories Robin was sure weren't at all pleasant. 'How can you promise that so rashly without knowing a single thing about who I am and where I come from?'

"Can we argue in the morning? You've had a long day, and not sleeping can't be good for your health, all things considered."

'You have to sleep, too.'

Robin thought about it. Not a minute had passed before he made his decision. "Move over." At the startled look on Jericho's face, he went on, "I need to be nearby in case you have another nightmare, and it will be harder for anyone to attack you with me that close."

Reluctantly, Jericho shuffled over to the edge of the bed and slipped under the sheets, leaving room for Robin. It wasn't long before his breathing became steady and slow enough that it was clear he had fallen asleep. Robin climbed in bed and no sooner had he done so than Jericho moved to snuggle up to his chest.

It was a bittersweet moment for the young hero. He was instantly reminded of nights spent in his parent's bed while the circus traveled from place to place, positioned between them where he knew he was safe—and of how he'd had no one to comfort him those first nights spent in the Wayne Manor.

He wrapped his arms around Jericho, pulling him closer to his body. He wouldn't let anyone hurt a member of his team, new or old. He would keep his promise.

The Titans would protect Jericho.

**Author's Note:**

> Just to be clear, if you were expecting the typical, "Titans find out Slade is Jericho's father" this is not that story.


End file.
